


Something Borrowed

by kellifer_fic



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fake Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames makes a proposal, makes things worse and makes himself scarce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiyala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/gifts).



"I've got bad news and worse news," Eames announces when Arthur has let him grudgingly into his hotel room. Arthur hasn't put his vest, tie or jacket on yet and Eames admires him for a second. Arthur in a simple button-down and slacks, sleeves rolled up looks good, rested.

Eames hates that he's about to deal a fatal blow to Arthur's calm.

"Bad news first then, soften up the ground," Arthur says, waving a _give it to me_ hand.

"Hamish is-"

"I'm out," Arthur interrupts, standing and already heading towards his bags.

"Er, that's the worse news. You can't bail," Eames says, trailing Arthur into the bathroom where he's started throwing his toiletries into his travel case. Arthur pauses with a toothbrush in one hand and a bottle of something expensive looking in the other and eyes Eames in the mirror.

"Why?" Arthur asks, scowl already starting to form between his brows. He puts down the items in his hands, probably to have them free to strangle Eames and he backs up out of the enclosed space prudently, Arthur almost stalking behind him.

"There's been some... allegations. If you disappear it's going to look suspicious."

"What has Hamish-"

"It was Timothy actually," Eames says with a wince and Arthur frowns, plainly confused.

"Timothy? I haven't done anything to him," he says.

"No, which is why Hamish's grubby paws are all over this, but he's smart enough to know that everyone will think it's nothing but your ongoing vendetta if he's the one pointing the finger. What did you do to him anyway?"

"Sometimes you have to cross people in this business or you get crossed," Arthur says with a half shrug. "I've always been proactive." Arthur eyes Eames for a moment. "What's Timothy saying I've done?"

"Been turned by the DEA," Eames says and Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Hamish could have been a little more creative than that," Arthur says like he's genuinely disappointed. "I suppose I'm going to have to find out what he's got on Timothy before I can clear this up."

"I... did something," Eames says and Arthur's eyes narrow. "Nothing terrible," he's quick to reassure but Arthur doesn't look convinced. "Just... they wouldn't take my bloody word for it that you wouldn't do that... as your _friend_ anyway."

"We're not friends," Arthur snaps and Eames puts a hand to his chest.

"I'm wounded."

"My _friend_ wouldn't drag me into a job I didn't want to take and by extension a clusterfuck I certainly didn't need."

"No, your friend wouldn't," Eames agrees. "But apparently your husband would."

Arthur's mouth unhinges like a cartoon character.

*

Arthur is lying face down on the bed, letting out a strained groan every now and again.

It sounds more pleasant than it is.

"In case it has escaped your attention," Arthur says, voice muffled because he's speaking into the mattress. "This is a long-haul job. We could be here for _months_."

Eames is hovering by the door, mindful that at any one time, Arthur has at least three different weapons within reach. Not that he'd need them, Eames is pretty sure Arthur could figure out a way to kill a person with the complimentary mint on his pillow. "I didn't really have time to weigh all the options," Eames says.

Arthur finally rolls over, staring at the ceiling above with his legs and arms thrown akimbo. Eames _really_ wishes he was seeing this kind of abandon in some other context. He never knew Arthur was the type to throw such a dramatic tantrum. "Hamish is resourceful. He's not just going to take your word for it."

"We have a marriage license in a lock box in Belize, our rings are in a safety deposit box in Australia and we have three different properties in both of our names," Eames says. "Or at least, we will by the end of today."

Arthur raises his head enough to lift an eyebrow. "That's just paperwork. You know Hamish will have us followed."

"The perv," Eames says jovially.

"I'm in a _hotel room_ ," Arthur says. "In a city where you have an apartment."

"Well..." Eames says and this is where he _shines_ , thinking fast, light on his mental feet. "We had a spat and anyone that knows you would believe that I would want to put you as far away from me as possible when you're feeling stabby."

"I'm certainly feeling stabby," Arthur allows, hand twitching towards one of the hotel pillows that most likely has something sharp underneath it.

"Right, so, pack your bags. All is forgiven," Eames invites and Arthur rolls onto his side, props his head on one hand.

"I have to stay with you," Arthur says, not a question but a declaration of remorse.

"You're the one who said Hamish is going to want to have evidence of our domestic bliss. We'll have breakfast, our delicates will get intermingled and you'll sleep-"

"On your bed while you sleep on the couch."

"Be reasonable," Eames opines. "This flat is my eighth favourite with my ninth favourite couch in it. It's not fit to sleep a man of my spectacular proportions. You, on the other hand with your whippet-like-"

"Fine, we're adults. We'll manage," Arthur grits between his teeth.

*

Eames situates Arthur is his flat, gets him a spare key and then makes himself scarce. He wants to give Arthur time to fester, really build up the anger towards Hamish and therefore forget Eames has most likely made the situation worse.

By the time Eames saunters back home, Arthur has made himself a nest in the livingroom out of bank statements, accordion files and laptops. His ninth favourite couch is just an indistinguishable hump underneath a mountain of paperwork. "So, I'm assuming you're going to be doing most of your work out of here then, eh?" Eames says. "Instead of the lovely offices Eloise has leased for us."

"I think the further away I stay from Hamish the better at the moment," Arthur says. "I've got a lot of stuff I can do on my own before I need to start talking to the extractors."

"So, it'll be like living with a particularly angry cat," Eames sighs, louder than he meant to because Arthur hears this little comment, snaps his head up, glare in place. "I mean, _excellent_ ," Eames hastens to back peddle.

"Do you need to be here?" Arthur asks curtly and instead of Eames pointing out that it _is_ his place, he says, "No, not at all."

*

The thing is, if the job hadn't been so _interesting_ he would have left well enough alone.

He has enough money to be choosey, and that usually involves working with only a select number of people. One of their extractors, Eloise, happens to be one of those people, but Eames _knew_ that the full team wasn't in place when he signed on and talked Arthur into it and therein lay disaster.

"Triple, simultaneous extraction," he'd crowed at Arthur, more excited than he'd been in a while.

"You can make anything sound dirty," Arthur had responded dryly and Eames hadn't felt like explaining that some small part of his excitement had been from the fact that Arthur had taken his call, was actually indulging him.

"Each mark has a section of a numbered account. We have to hit all three at once because they have safeguards against people like us." Eames had refused to also acknowledge to even himself at the time that he'd been waiting for a job like this, one good enough that he had a valid _excuse_ to call Arthur in. "Three extractors though, bloody nightmare. I told Eloise that no one would do but you."

Arthur had laughed at him, warm and friendly and had said no at first, but Eames had kept ringing and finally Arthur had relented, said, "My god, _fine_. When did you become a thirteen year old girl with the relentless calling for chrissakes!"

Eames had badgered Arthur into the situation so obviously he was going to be understanding about Arthur kicking him out of his own place, up to a point.

*

"Oh my god, are you cuddling me?"

Eames comes awake, bleary because it feels like he's only just put his head down. He was tailing mark two of three, trying to work out if the guy had a schedule he stuck to, trying to do something _proactive_ because that seems to be Arthur's watch word and also stay out of his flat for as long as possible while Arthur seethed.

Arthur had been crashed out on his bed when Eames had gotten back, half undressed and he'd _said_ that it was fine they shared so Eames wasn't exactly sure why he is now receiving a wake-up call that involves a pointy elbow to his kidney.

"Ow, bloody, stop it!" Eames grumbles, reaching and pinning any flailing limbs threatening his person. Arthur squirms in his hold and Eames wakes up enough to realize he is _pinning Arthur to a bed_ and lets go fast, Arthur rolling away from him.

"We need to build a wall if you're going to carry on being a _sleep cuddler_ ," Arthur says, sounding miffed and Eames just stares at him, watches as Arthur herds all the pillows into the middle of the bed in a line between them. Eames pokes at one, then picks it up and stuffs it under his head when he lays back down.

He feels Arthur glaring at his back for a few moments before he seems to give it up.

"Just stay on your side," Arthur eventually grumbles.

"Both sides _are_ my bloody side," Eames grumbles back.

*

"Fancy a cuppa?" Eames asks, sliding his tie off. He's tired in the bone-deep way that means falling somewhere face-first sounds like a good idea. Arthur shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes with the movement. He's been getting more relaxed about his appearance the longer he's been _working from home_ and Eames is enjoying Arthur's slow unspooling.

"How about some dinner then?" he prods, unsure why he always feels the compulsion to dance around Arthur's feet in this way, get his attention. Arthur is dismissive of his antics, always has been. This only makes Eames worse. "Or some how's your father, eh?"

That gets Arthur looking up, one eyebrow raised. "Is that some cutesy English way of asking if I want to have sex?"

"How'd you know that?" Eames asks.

"I assume everything you say is some cutesy English way of asking for sex," Arthur says with a half-shrug, standing. Eames is about to make a comment about _that_ when Arthur skins out of his waistcoat.

He's got hands on his belt when Eames manages to get out a strangled, "What are you doing?"

"I thought that would be obvious," Arthur says, coiling his belt around his hand and setting it aside. "I'm saying yeah sure, why not."

"You're messing with me," Eames says, narrow-eyed and Arthur rubs a hand through his hair, messing it further than it already was.

"Of course I am," he huffs, sitting back down and Eames stares at him a moment because _maybe he wasn't_. Eames prides himself on being able to read people but Arthur always throws off conflicting signals. He's about to open his mouth and call Arthur's bluff when Arthur says, "There's a problem with Henden," holding a pile of papers out at him and the moment's broken.

*

"He needs to actually come in at some point," Eloise says, but her expression is an apologetic one. "Hamish is starting to be a real dick-"

"Starting?" Eames huffs and Eloise bites down on a smirk.

"He's being a dick about it but he's got a point. We set down all these plans and tactics during the day, then you take them home and Arthur picks them apart and sends you back with the scraps. I'd rather he dismantle us here without the lag. I'm starting to feel like I'm handing in homework and the teacher hates me."

"He's coming in today," Eames says and it's true. He'd watched Arthur put himself together that morning, saying he had a few things to do but then would be in to _see what the hell you people think you've been doing_. "I patted him down before I left but I can't guarantee he won't be armed when he arrives."

"I'll bet you did," Eloise says and when Eames laughs dutifully, she eyes him for a moment before saying, "You know, I can really see it."

"What?"

"You two, how it happened," she says. "It's kind of hard to picture Arthur with _anyone_ but... yeah, I can see it."

"I'm the luckiest man in the world," Eames says flatly, then pokes his tongue out of the side of his mouth and Eloise is laughing at him like she's supposed to.

Six hours later, Arthur hasn't shown and everyone's eyeing Eames like he should know what that means. Eames makes his excuses and goes, after dialling Arthur's number about fifteen times and getting no response.

Eames tries not to be terrified as he rushes home.

*

"Which places did I get?"

Arthur bails him up the moment Eames slides through the door and for a moment he's confused, but then he says with equal parts anger and relief, "Are you _drunk_?"

"S'important," Arthur says and he's holding a bottle Eames is pretty sure came out of his imported beer gift hamper he'd been meaning to send to his brother and hadn't gotten around to yet. "Will tell me how much you care."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Eames says, still annoyed. He's stripping off his jacket and has to nudge Arthur aside with an elbow to do it because Arthur seems to have forgotten all his personal space _rules_ while sloshed.

"You _said_ that we owned three pro...pur...proper...places together," he finally manages after a few false starts. "I need to know which ones so I know how much you care."

"You're a needy drunk," Eames observes, guiding Arthur back towards his living room with a hand at the small of his back. He resists the urge to let his hand wander even though he's pretty sure that Arthur wouldn't protest given his current state. Especially since Arthur curves backwards until his head is resting on Eames' shoulder. As soon as his head connects, his whole body slumps with it and Eames has to catch him under the arms to avoid Arthur ending up an undignified puddle on the floor.

As fun as that would be.

"If it's any of the places in France, then I know you don't give a shit because you hate France." Arthur gets his feet under him enough that he can tilt his head and look at the bottom of Eames' chin. "Why do you hate France?"

"Many and varied reasons, mostly to do with the efficiency of their police force," Eames says. "But please, do continue. This is fascinating."

"But if it's the place in Alaska-"

Eames freezes, drops his hold on Arthur who stumbles a little forward but stays mostly upright. Arthur turns slowly, holding his arms out sideways for balance. "How do you know about the place in _Alaska_?" Eames asks slowly. _No one_ is supposed to know about the place in Alaska. "That's where I go if someone wants me _dead_."

"That's why I know about it," Arthur says, shrugging. He raises the hand not holding his beer and squints at Eames, squeezing thumb and forefinger together about where Eames' head would be in his vision. "In case I wanted you dead."

"You wouldn't-"

"Probably not," Arthur says, waving a dismissive hand. "I like to keep my options open though."

"I think it's bed time, eh?" Eames prompts, unsettled. He gets Arthur into the bedroom and out of most of his clothes before Arthur gives up consciousness. Eames sits on the corner of the bed as Arthur lets out a sodden snore, runs a hand through Arthur's hair, always longer than he expects it to be.

"Grumpy cat," Eames says with a sigh.

*

"Not that I'm complaining because it was very entertaining, but getting drunk during a job is a little strange for you, eh?" Eames observes, watching Arthur wince his way through making coffee the next morning.

"One beer usually helps me think," Arthur says.

"What does eight do for you?"

"Unfortunately the opposite," Arthur says, wry and Eames finds himself just smiling at him. He's surprised he's enjoyed having Arthur around so much, constant fear for his life and all. He knew he was attracted to Arthur, he has _eyes_ , but he hadn't realized till that moment that he might be able to deal with Arthur on a little more of a permanent basis than that.

He's pretty sure his revelation is a one-sided one, worse luck.

"So why-"

"Hamish is the one who's working for the DEA," Arthur says, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how long for but-"

"We're leaving," Eames says, standing and heading for his room and his go-bag. Arthur snags his arm on the way past, tugs until Eames is back to facing him.

"We can't. The original argument stands. I'll have to figure out a way to actually prove it before we can do anything."

"They'll have to kill you," Eames points out.

"I know that," Arthur says, mouth a firm little line. "If they want to use Hamish again, I'll have to disappear permanently."

"Hence the leaving."

"Eames-"

"If I actually had paperwork for the Alaska place, that would be one of the properties I would give you," Eames blurts, knows by the way his cheeks get hot that he's blushing which is frankly a very amatuer thing to do.

"What?"

"I'll find a way to clear this up but _after_ you've disappeared on our terms. This is all my fault anyway, least I can do."

"Eames, I don't-"

"Arthur, if you ever do _anything_ for me in your life, do this one thing," Eames says, cutting Arthur off because he doesn't want to he the end of what Arthur _doesn't_.

"Trust me."

"You know I do," Arthur says and Eames blinks at him because that he really didn't.

*

"He's fine, right?" Dom demands as soon as Eames answers his phone, sounding harried. Considering that's his default tone, Eames can't tell if he's really worried or not. "I heard rumors."

"Ariadne or Yusuf?" Eames asks because Dom likes to talk like he still has _connections_ but he really doesn't.

"Both," Dom admits after a beat. "He's disappeared off the face of the earth."

"He's done that before," Eames points out. He gets unique enjoyment out of riling Dom up because the man never fails to react. "What makes you think I know where he is?"

"Well, apparently you're _married_ ," Dom huffs and there's... if Eames isn't mistaken, he would swear there's grave disappointment in Dom's voice.

"Are you pissed at me for stealing Arthur?" Eames asks, puzzled.

"That's not it."

"Well then... are you mad because you weren't _invited_?" Eames manages, suddenly almost chokingly amused.

"Not even an announcement!" Dom complains. "I'm Arthur's best friend. I would think that would at least merit a phone call."

Eames contemplates telling Dom that it was all a ruse, that the rumors that he and Arthur were betrothed were greatly exaggerated and they'll die off like most things in the dream community.

For about a second, then he says, "I'm sure your invitation just got lost in the mail, mate."

"You're terrible," Dom rages. "You're a terrible person and you're _terrible_ for Arthur."

"I'm the best thing that ever happened to him, actually," Eames says although he's probably closer to agreeing with Dom than he'd like Dom to know. Considering Arthur's muddied reputation and the current contract on his life are Eames' fault, he's definitely thinking Dom is closer to the mark.

None of that matters though, not when Eames is approaching his house in Alaska and Arthur's standing on the porch, wrapped in a blanket and with two cups of coffee in hand. He's smiling, dimples digging deep and he's not wearing a shirt under the blanket if the view of collar bone and hint of nipple are anything to go by.

"Sod it, we eloped," Eames says. "I promise we'll have a proper reception and you can frown at me there all you like."

"You'd better," Dom warns.


End file.
